AN: Hiii, my lovelies. Thanks again for all subscribers (and a waaaarm welcome to the new ones) and commenters of this fic. I told I would post this on Saturday, but I want to know what you guys think... so I'm here. If I post a short chapter on Saturday you guys can figure the reason haha

Before you read, a little warning. I'm not a doctor, a med student or even that interested in medicine. I'm just a dumb writer trying to create good stories, so forgive me if I'm not accurate when I describe this disease. It's only fiction, so please don't take stuff here too seriously. I researched this on google and read it carefully to avoid mistakes and to see how far this disease can go, but internet can only reach certain level of knowledge. But if you guys want to know about it, I think Jack Osbourne (son of Ozzy Osbourne) has this condition. Anyway, let's just take this with entertainment value and that's it. Hope you guys will like it. And keep the faith ♥

Love you all :)

CHAPTER 11

A few years ago



“Wooyoung, are you getting old?”

“Can we take five?” Wooyoung asked, his respiration shallow and quick. He just needed a few minutes to rest, so he sat down with a thud.

2PM was in the middle of intense rehearsals to a farewell concert, their last as 6 in the years to come. They all looked tired, but Taecyeon's teasing wasn't so off base. Lately, Wooyoung has been feeling a little tired, fatigue always catching up with him. He would try hard and keep going, but sometimes he had to stop and calm his breath.

Truth to be told, his unusual fatigue wasn't the only weird thing. They all were a little down because all of them would go, one by one, to the military. In the past, they had plans to go together. But like Super Junior and other kpop bands, company chose to send them separately. They didn't want to lose the opportunity to make money for two whole years, so they split them and put them in different activities throughout this period.

Minjun would be the first to go the military. In an unexpected turn, he begged the company to go first because he didn't want to lose much of his son's first years. Taecyeon would go next, followed by Wooyoung, Junho and Chansung.

“I'm sorry,” Wooyoung spoke, breathing still labored. “I'm a little tired.” Chansung looked at him worriedly. Because he was looking at Wooyoung, he missed Junho gazing at him with sadness. And that was the other weird thing. Chansung and Junho didn't talk anymore. The youngest wouldn't even look at the so called Emperor, who in turn always looked at him longly when the maknae wasn't paying attention.

“Is everything alright, Wooyoungie?” Nichkhun asked with his signature kind eyes and sat down next to him. The question warmed his heart a little, like it did everytime his hyung talked to him.

“I'm good, hyung. Just a little tired, but there is nothing to worry.” He smiled at his bandmate and got an easy grin in return.

“I heard you are going to your base today?”

“Yes, I guess we need to set everything ready for my service next year,” he said with a pout.

“Don't pout,” Nichkhun said with a smile. “It will go over really quickly then you go back to us.” He was still smiling, but his eyes got a little sad.

“Don't be sad, hyung.” He hang himself on his neck, playfully tickling the older male.

“But wait, I thought you went there to the base once already?”

“Yes, I did,” he said still hugging his friend. “ I went there to have medical exams a few weeks back and today we get the results. And then we talk dates and other technicalities like when I should go for good.”

Sometimes he wished he didn't have to go. But the thought would quickly go away when he thought about all the men serving their country proudly. He wanted to help South Korea too, so he would go happily. Even if that got him away from what he loved the most.

“You want me go with you?” Again, that warm feeling on his gut. And again, he dismissed it because he didn't want to know what was the turmoil he felt inside himself everytime they talked.

“Nah,” he added, still smiling. “I will go over really quickly.”

“Okay, call hyung if you need me, okay?”

“Got it. Anything wrong and I will call Super Hyung,” he added with a laugh. Still sitting down, he watched all of them getting ready to go back to dancing. But he didn't feel ready. Yet he tried to get up and join them, but his legs failed.

“I will stay out of this round, okay?”

A few pair of eyes looked at him worriedly when he sat down again, but the loud music came really quickly and they all went to their marked spaces. The heavy bass made the room shake, but he barely registered the noise. What was happening to him, his legs never failed before. Wooyoung continued to watch the rehearsal, eventually slapping his numb leg, but it didn't respond to the touch. His worry went again when it was time to go home.


In the afternoon, he left the dorms to the doctor's appointment at the military base. No longer tired, he arrived at the place in the company van. After getting identified, they proceed inside. As expected, there were soldiers marching and chanting with their guns up, people coming and going with somber expression and fearful youngest entering a nearby building.

“I will wait here, Wooyoung,” his manager said while he was still on the car.

“Sure.”

He followed to the medical area of the base, a gloomy two story building. After talking to a nurse, he walked into a white room. The place looked like a regular hospital, making him nervous and a little weary. He sat down in the waiting area, but really soon he was called.

“Jang Wooyoung.”

“Yes.”

“Please follow me. The doctor is waiting.”

He entered the doctor's office and bowed. “Good afternoon, doctor.” The doctor replied with a tense smile and showed him the chair. The doctor went straight to the point, his face contorted in tense lines and mouth pinched in worry.

“Wooyoung-sshi. I'm afraid I don't have good news.”

His heart skipped a beat for a moment. After doing a little loop, said organ started beating out of control waiting for the worrisome news.

“Tell me, please.”

“You are sick, Wooyoung. You have what we call multiple sclerosis and will be dismissed from the military.”

One beat, two beats. His heart out of control, his hands wet from nervousness. “Am I going to die?” he asked, tears forming in his eyes. He didn't understand what was going on, but suddenly he felt like his life passed through his eyes. In a flash, several important things came to his mind. His family, his friends, Nichkhun. He didn't want to leave them.

“No, no. It doesn't work that way. But we have to run more tests to know the subtype of your disease. The life expectancy of someone with this disease is only 5 to 10 years lower than healthy people. But you will need to take care of yourself to live longer. Also there is no cure, only alternative treatments. It can go badly or you can have a normal life.”

“What is going to happen with me? What are the symptoms? Why do I have this? Did I do something wrong?”

“Multiple sclerosis is a disorder of brain and spinal cord, an autoimmune disease, it wasn't cause by something you did,” the doctor explained patiently, not getting fazed by the storm of questions. “You might feel fatigue, numbness, muscle weakness, short memory loss, visual problems. You might not feel anything at all. Some forms of the disease are very mild, so let's keep positive it will be your case. If they are more severe, you can have episodes.”

“Episodes?”

“Yes. Symptoms of the multiple sclerosis appear in episodic acute periods of worsening. Also called relapses, they are a deterioration of neurologic function. The type and number of symptoms that occur during a relapse vary from person to person, the frequency also varies. Sometimes a person can have one relapse every two years. So please let's keep positive.”

When he said nothing, the doctor went on and on about causes, treatments, symptoms. But he tuned him out, awakening eventually when he heard words such as wheel chair, depression and therapy. What would he do now? He was good as nothing to 2PM. And if he didn't have 2PM and his friends, he was good as dead.

When it was time to leave, the doctor assured him everything would be alright. They would call him as soon as the other exams were done, so he nodded mechanically and left. On their ride home, he held the tears as his life depended on it. He didn't want to tell the company or the managers now. As a matter of fact, he didn't want anyone to know about this. The last thing he wanted was to make people suffer.


Just to think of his sweet Chansung, of tempestuous Junho, troll Taecyeon, lively Minjun and his beloved Nichkhun suffering because of this stupid disease, he almost sobbed. But he couldn't show his weakness. He was going to protect this secret and only his family would know. What was the point of burdening people with something that he should face alone?

When he got home, he ran towards his room and locked himself inside. With his back glued to the door, he felt to the ground and sobbed. Looking at his unsteady hands, his vision now blurry because of the tears, he thought how his life wouldn't be the same. His fate changed by a random disease, his dreams shattered because of something he couldn't control. Wooyoung was always healthy, didn't drink or eat bad food, so why?

Eventually, he got up and dried his tears. He left his room and went down the stairs slowly. While he descended the steps, one by one, his face still swollen because of the tears, his feet numb and body deflated, he heard voices. Lively and cheery sounds that made his heart a little happy again.

“Yah, this tastes horrible, Taecyeon,” Minjun drawled on his strong Daegu accent. More giggling, more shouts, more jokes. It was hell, but it was heaven. It was home.

He entered the kitchen to see Taecyeon was doing his innocent pose, hands on his mouth and eyes upward, not being able to hide his grin. Chansung approached the dish and tasted it, making a disgusted face almost immediately.

“Don't eat it, Chansung,” Nichkhun said with easy grin. He looked pretty relaxed with his back on the kitchen counter. He looked so happy Wooyoung could go back upstairs and cry all over again. Chansung paid no mind to his words and took a spoon to his mouth.

“Hyung, what did you put on this sauce,” he said with his tongue out after eating. “It tastes like... it taste like. Ahh, I can't even say it,” said the maknae with a contorted face, but rolling on the ground in laughter when Taecyeon started tingling his waist. “You are the worst cook that ever existed, hyung,” he added, his face in bliss, but trying to defend himself against Taec's attacks.

“I warned you, Chansung,” Nichkhun said giggling.

“Ah, you are there Wooyoung. Please taste my delicious pasta sauce and tell them it's good.”

All their attention was turned to him now and in a few seconds he was engulfed in strong arms. Everyone was in good spirits, even the distant Chansung and Junho. That night they played with food. They joked. They laughed. Their smiles so big it almost hurt their cheeks. In that moment, the warmth was overwhelming he forgot about disease, cures, symptoms. In that moment, he knew where he belonged. And he knew his only choice was to leave. Their happiness depended on it.





“We can't. Hyung, I- I'm sick.”

Nichkhun stopped on his tracks, no longer trying to approach him like he was seconds ago. His eyes were wide open, not even blinking for a few moments.

“What did you say?”

“I have a disease called multiple sclerosis.” It broke his heart to see Nichkhun's face, but he needed an ally. And who was better than the kinder person Wooyoung ever met?

“Are- are you going to...” he stuttered, still keeping that shell shocked expression.

“No. It's not like that. I'm not going to die.”

“I just have to take care of myself better than the most people. Listen, hyung,” he approached his friend, putting his hand on his his shoulder. “I'm alright now. I just have a few problems sometimes.”

“Are you sure?” Nichkhun came closer again and looked him straight in the eye. Just then he saw he had tears in his eyes, so he touched the foreigner's eyes to try to stop the moist that was threatening to form.

“Yes. I'm sure. I can go on for a long time without any troubles.”

“Is that why you ran?”

“I had three reasons. The first was that I just needed time to think, to gain some perspective. Suddenly I realized I could die at any given moment and there were still lots of things I wanted to do. Eventually, I did all the things I dreamed, but there is still something I need to do. And second, I really didn't want to burden people.”

If it was possible, Nichkhun's eyes grew wider at the mention of the word die, but he chose to ignore the devastating three letter word and added, “You listen to me, you would never be a burden to me or to anyone else,” he said, his hands on Wooyoung's arms, shaking him a little.

“I-I...” he trailed, not knowing how to defend himself on that one. He fought a deep battle inside himself. One part of him wanted to spare them of a sick person and the other one wanted, needed them in his life. “I know it wasn't right. That's why I'm here. I need to do this.”

“What do you need to do? And wait, what was the third reason?”

“I want 2PM to get back together. And the third reason... I'm not ready to tell. It's complicated.” He looked away, blushing, not daring to speak those words. Nichkhun looked at quizzically, like he grew a second head.

“But what about your disease? Won't the stressful schedule make it worse or something like that?”

“No, he won't,” he lied. He didn't need to ask the doctor to imagine such emotional ride such as having a band wasn't the best for his health. Wooyoung took his vitamins, did his therapy and took good care of himself. But if he didn't have music, he would die anyway. He was ready to take this step. “Will you help me, hyung? Will you help me get 2PM back together?”

“I'm not sure,” he trailed shaking his head. His eyes were confused and sad, still wet from the tears that still didn't fall.

“Pleaseeee,” he begged, hugging his friend tightly. He put his hands on his back and his nose on his soap scented sweater. At first, Nichkhun hugged him back awkwardly, but suddenly he felt hands soothingly patting his back.

“Okay. If it means so much to you I will help. But please tell me what was the other reason someday. You know your hyung is curious.” He smiled. And in those arms he felt warm again, just like when Taecyeon made that disgusting pasta and their laughter was louder than their music.

AN: did you see the little yearning chanho I added? I told you I was biased. And how was the rest? Not bad, right? I feel pretty optimistic about his condition if I might add :) I read doctors saying people with MS can live a long life so please don't feel sad no longer. Okay?

And almost forgot...

UP NEXT: OK TROLL, our favorite cat.